My Groom’s Mistress Tried to Kill Me for My Fortune

I stared at my reflection in the antique mirror of the Anderson estate's guest room. The woman looking back at me seemed different somehow—harder, more determined. The past few days had changed everything.

"Are you ready for this?" Victoria, my assistant and closest friend, asked from the doorway.

"Absolutely," I replied, straightening my spine. "It's time Khloe learned what happens when you steal from me."

I'd spent the morning arranging delicate china teacups and preparing the perfect scene—a facade of reconciliation before the wedding. The kind of thing society expected from Manhattan's golden couple.

"Anna?" Victoria looked worried. "Are you sure about this?"

"More sure than I've been about anything in years," I said, reaching for my phone. "Now, let's make the call."

---

Khloe arrived precisely at three o'clock, sweeping into the drawing room like she owned it. Her auburn hair was perfectly styled, and she wore a flowing maternity dress that highlighted her growing belly.

"Anna, darling!" she exclaimed, air-kissing both my cheeks. "How wonderful of you to invite me. I've missed you terribly."

I forced a smile. "Tea?"

"Of course." She settled onto the sofa across from me, her movements deliberately graceful. "Wedding preparations must be overwhelming. How are you holding up?"

"Better than expected," I replied, pouring tea with steady hands. "Though I've been meaning to ask about something that's been bothering me."

"Oh?" She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

I nodded toward her wrist. "That bracelet. It looks familiar."

Khloe's smile widened as she twisted her wrist, making the vintage Cartier bracelet catch the light. "This old thing? Chase gave it to me as a push present."

My blood boiled. "That's my mother's bracelet."

"Was," she corrected, taking a sip of tea. "Chase said you wouldn't mind. After all, what use do you have for it now?"

I leaned forward. "Give it back, Khloe."

She laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "Or what? You'll wheel yourself over here and take it?"

"I said give it back." My voice was ice.

"Why should I?" She stood, one hand protectively covering her belly. "You're just a cripple, Anna. You always were. Even before the accident."

The word hit like a slap. Cripple. Is that how everyone saw me?

"Khloe." Chase's voice cut through the tension as he entered the room. "What's going on?"

"Your fiancée is being unreasonable," Khloe pouted, moving to his side. "I thought we were all friends."

Chase's eyes narrowed as he looked between us. "Anna, you're making Khloe upset. Think about the baby."

I stared at him in disbelief. "That's my mother's bracelet, Chase."

"And now it's Khloe's," he said coldly. "She deserves it more than you do."

Something snapped inside me. I lunged forward, grabbing for the bracelet. "You have no right—"

Chase shoved me backward. My wheelchair tipped, and I crashed to the floor, my head hitting the hardwood with a sickening crack.

"Look what you made me do," he hissed, standing over me.

Khloe laughed, a high, tinkling sound. "Someone should really teach her manners."

They left me there, on the floor, blood pooling beneath my head.

---

The pain was excruciating, but it cleared my mind like nothing else had.

Night after night, I locked my bedroom door and began the work that would save me. Lorenzo had arranged for a portable treadmill and weights to be delivered to my private studio—equipment that Chase knew nothing about.

The first time I tried to stand, my legs buckled beneath me. The second time, I made it to three seconds before collapsing. By the seventh night, I could stand for ten seconds.

"Again," I whispered to myself, gripping the parallel bars Lorenzo had installed.

Sweat poured down my face as fire shot through my spine and legs. But the pain felt good—it meant I was alive, fighting back.

"Fifteen seconds," I gasped, watching the timer on my phone.

By midnight, I'd increased to thirty seconds. My legs trembled with exhaustion, but I refused to stop.

"You're a monster," I told the reflection in the studio mirror, blood trickling from where I'd reopened the wound on my head. "But not as much of a monster as they are."

I pulled out my hidden diary from beneath the loose floorboard and sketched my progress—a simple line graph showing my improvement. Next to it, I drew Chase and Khloe's faces, crossing through them with violent strokes.

"One day," I promised myself, "you'll both pay for what you've done."

I closed the diary and returned it to its hiding place, unaware that tomorrow would bring revelations that would shake everything I thought I knew about my past—and my future.